


The Darkangel

by Valar_Fandomis_ (MelodyRavenclawOfAsgard)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyRavenclawOfAsgard/pseuds/Valar_Fandomis_
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkangel.<br/>There was a reason why you had that alias. Several, in fact. Angel was obvious- you were beautiful, and no one denied it. You had long, silky (y/c) hair, clear skin, a toned, curvy figure, and bright (y/c) eyes, ringed around the pupil with silver from the serum they had used on you. The “dark” aspect was not so obvious; not to people who didn’t know you. You were one of Hydra’s top five assassins, gifted with the most difficult and dangerous missions. <br/>You were deadly, and you knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> All of the content in this story belongs to Marvel, except for Darkangel, any made up Hydra agents, and the overall plot.

_Darkangel._   
_There was a reason why you had that alias. Several, in fact. Angel was obvious- you were beautiful, and no one denied it. You had long, silky (y/c) hair, clear skin, a toned, curvy figure, and bright (y/c) eyes, ringed around the pupil with silver from the serum they had used on you. The “dark” aspect was not so obvious; not to people who didn’t know you. You were one of Hydra’s top five assassins, gifted with the most difficult and dangerous missions._   
_You were deadly, and you knew it._   
_That was why they’d assigned you this mission. Not that you had a choice. This one would likely cost you your life if any mistakes occurred. As soon as you had come out of cryofreeze, cold and sluggish, your memories had been wiped and your orders given._   
_That is all you knew. You didn’t know your name, your family, your friends- that is, if you had any still living. You didn’t have any memories of life before Hydra, of a mother’s embrace, the joy of a birthday, or anything resembling freedom._   
_You knew your alias, you knew your fellow assets, and you knew your mission._   
_Kill the Avengers._

 

          “Nat’s down!” Steve Rogers, Captain America, yelled into his earpiece. Half of the Avengers were injured or unconscious and Vision was elsewhere, so the duty now laid on Steve, Wanda and Pietro to stop the threat. And it was a damn hard threat to stop. She- Steve had been able to briefly glimpse her figure and (y/c) hair, braided tightly around her head- had slipped through their defenses like a shadow, leaving destruction and groaning bodies in her wake. Steve had yet to see exactly who she was; she was clad in all black, making her nothing but darkness.

          “Last I heard, it seemed like she was heading our way. Wanda, see if you can stop her with your powers. Pietro, go now and see if any of our people are still conscious, and get them out of here,” Steve barked his orders. Within moments, Pietro had sped off and Wanda was at his side, red energy writhing around her fingertips.

          “How did she get in here?” Wanda asked, strain evident in her voice as her eyes roamed over the training room. “How did she get past the security unnoticed?”

          “I have no idea,” Steve replied, “But I know that she had taken down half of our people before the alarms were finally set off, and that makes her no friend of us.” Wanda grimaced.

          “She’s coming towards you, fast,” A muffled voice came through their earpieces. “Through the main doors.”

          Steve glanced over at Wanda and nodded slightly. The brunette moved lithely to the corner of the room, positioning herself so that she couldn’t be seen from the doorway.

          A minute passed. Steve could feel his heart pounding, his breath short in his chest as nervousness coiled through his stomach. Never before had they all faced someone like this, who moved with such cold, deadly precision.

          The doors slammed open.

          She wore a black suit that clung to her like a second skin, with metal all over the backs and insides of her arms, black combat boots, and a black mask that covered most of her face, following down her jaw but leaving her mouth and chin open. Metal also had been laid into the mask and covered the nose, jaw, and the area around her eyes, outlining them and emphasizing the faint silver gleam they contained. There were guns and knives strapped to her legs and hips, and two daggers were in sheaths strapped to her chest. She stood completely still, her posture tensed just enough that Steve could tell she was ready to move in a split second.

          "Captain America,” she purred, her voice low and rich with the promise of blood. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

          Steve clenched his jaw and smiled tightly, “I wish I could say the same. Wanda, now!”

          Wanda waved her hands and red light enveloped the assassin. Wanda’s face was hard with concentration, her eyebrows knit tightly together as she tried to overpower the other woman’s mind. The assassin turned her head towards Wanda and scoffed. The silver in her eyes glowed, flashing like a coin in the sun, then the red pulse surrounding her shot back at Wanda. The female Maximoff cried out and was thrown against the wall, collapsing unconscious to the floor. The assassin turned her gaze to Steve, a predatory look in her eyes. A cruel smile curved her lips. She stepped forward gracefully, grasped the railing, then flipped herself over it, landing quietly on the floor in a crouch. She straightened up and began to stalk towards him.

          “Who are you?” Steve called out as he pulled his shield from his back. “Who do you work for”

          "They told me you were smart, Captain.” She laughed. “I guess they were wrong. As to who I am? I’m your worst nightmare, but you can call me Darkangel.”

          “Hydra sends its regards.”

          She flicked her wrists, causing the metal on her arms to unfold into sharp blades resembling feathers. Before he could blink, she lunged at him, swiping at his head with one arm as she pulled a knife from her belt. His shield screeched horribly from the impact of the metal feathers, but failed to stop her blade, which dropped down low and sliced across his thigh. She danced back, away from his fist as it flew towards her face.

          Smirking slightly, she moved back in again, her blades flashing through the air. Steve ducked and landed a punch on a stomach, causing her to gasp and stumble back. He threw his shield at the wall behind her, taking her legs out from under her as it returned to him. Strapping his shield back onto his arm, Steve cautiously approached the girl. She lay sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed and breathing light.

          Without warning, Darkangel’s eyes snapped open and her leg shot up to hit him hard between the legs. Letting out a muffled choke, Steve dropped to his knees in pain. The assassin slipped onto her feet, drew the two knives from her chest-sheaths and jumped at him. Steve just barely got his arm up in time as she drove her daggers towards his unprotected throat. His fingers wrapped around her wrists, quickly becoming bloodless with the effort of holding back the unnaturally strong assassin. Her entire body was trembling with strain over him, but her face remained cold and composed. Darkangel reared back slightly, then pushed the knives down again. Steve lost another inch- the tips were right above his throat now- and his palms were slick with the effort of holding the daggers away from him. Somehow, someway, this woman’s strength matched his chemically enhanced strength; a fact he did NOT want to deal with.

          Her strength had to be the result of a serum like the one pumped into his body, like the one Hydra gave to its operatives, the one Hydra had given to…

          Bucky.

          The realization cost Steve his concentration. Victory flashed across the Hydra asset’s face as her knives plunged down. And then, in a rush of wind, she was gone. A large hand floated into Steve’s line of vision as he tried to remember how to breathe. He grasped it and was pulled to his feet, locking gazes with Pietro. His face must have betrayed his surprise at being alive, because Pietro grinned like a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

          “What, you didn’t see that coming?”

Steve glanced over at the black-clad body lying on the floor by the wall.

          “Honestly, I thought she had me,” he replied. “I’ve never seen anyone move quite like the way she does, and the way she was able to turn Wanda’s powers against her…” Steve trailed off.

          “...Is a clear sign of how dangerous she is.” Tony’s voice echoed through the room, startling Steve. “We should get her contained, now.” The billionaire’s face was bruised and bloody, there was a dagger lodged in the left side of the metal covering his chest and he was carrying his left arm stiffly. Natasha moved out from behind him, her suit slashed half to pieces and as bloody as Tony. She glanced over at Steve, her eyes full of exasperation and exhaustion, as she limped down the stairs to check on Wanda.

          “I agree. Go get yourself and the others checked out. We’ll deal with her.”


	2. Interrogation and Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader meets Tony and Steve, and clarifies some of Steve's suspicions about his lost friend, Bucky.

When you come to, your head is pounding violently, your ribs and ankle ache, and you can feel cold metal around your wrists. You open your eyes to an admittedly familiar sight; grey stone walls, a metal door and two panels of one way glass on the same wall as the door. A cell. Probably your least favorite place in the world. You wrack your brain feverishly for a reason why you’re in this mystery prison, but the past few hours are frustratingly blank.

It was obvious that Hydra had sent you here, but as to where here was, you had no idea. You did, however, remember your emergency protocol. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, then lightly trail your fingers up your left forearm until you feel a slight, square shaped bump under your skin. Relief floods through you that your captors hadn’t yet found the device in your arm, and you press your thumb against the implant. It vibrates once under your skin, a sensation that still freaks you out a bit. You let your arms fall back to your sides, the handcuffs clanking slightly, and begin your wait.

You’re not kept waiting long. Within moments, a lock clicks and the door opens, revealing none other than Tony Stark. Seeing him jogs your memory, reminding you of what your mission had been.

“Ah…” you exhale, “So that’s why I’m in this stinking concrete box.”

The billionaire-turned-superhero’s arm is in a sling, and his right cheek is heavily bruised. He steps closer to you and his eyes narrow with barely suppressed anger. Most likely because he’d been beat up by you, a girl that looked like she should be painting her nails instead of punching men in metal suits.

“Yeah.” He grinds out, “You’re here because you nearly took us out. All of us. But you failed, and now we have to figure out what to do with you,” Tony starts to pace in front of the table you’re cuffed to, “Giving you back to Hydra is out of the question, obviously. We could always keep you here and wait for your people to show up. Or we could kill you and save ourselves all the trouble-”

“Oh, spare me your holier-than-thou speech, Stark,” you snap, cutting him off. You’d never been overly fond of the man, and he was starting to get on your nerves. “Save it for someone who cares.”

The last thing you wanted right now was to be scolded by Iron Man while you tried to figure out exactly what was going on. Luckily for you, Tony turns on his heel and leaves, muttering something about alcohol and a vacation. Before the door can even shut, Steve Rogers steps through.

“Oh, joy,” you snicker, “Is the great Captain America here to scold me too?”

“No, I’m not,” he replies with a slight chuckle. He pulls up a chair and sits down across from you. “You’re one of them, right? One of Hydra’s supersoldiers. That’s why your strength matched mine.”

You don’t reply. It’s obvious he knows it’s true, but just needs to say it just for his own sake.

“Who are you?” He asks. His voice is gentle, but firm.

“My name is (Y/N).” You murmur. You’re surprised by how easily it flows out. Steve is too, evidently, and his eyes gleam with something akin to triumph.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yes, Captain Obvious,” you sigh, “I may not remember much right now, but that came back pretty quickly.”

“Do you remember what you did?”

“Barely,” you reply with a weak smile, “I know I probably ruined a couple people’s days.”

There was a strange emotion glinting in the man’s eyes now, a kind of feverish determination. You reach out tentatively with your mind and brush gently against his, getting a glimpse of a handsome man in an old military uniform before you pull back.

“Do you know a man named Bucky Barnes? He goes by the Winter Soldier now. I figured, since you’re part of Hydra, maybe you’d know...” He trails off, gazing at you hopefully.

Your body tenses involuntarily at the name, and you have to force yourself to relax. This man is-was Bucky’s friend, after all. Still, if only he knew that asking if you knew Bucky was like asking if the sun knew the moon.

“Yes,” you whisper. You clear your throat, then repeat yourself, “Yes, I know him.”

Relief spreads across his face. “Then maybe you can answer this question for me. I ran into B- the Winter Soldier not long ago and found out who he was. When I tried to talk to him, he had no idea who I was.” Pain had crept into his voice while he was talking, as the grief and confusion he felt was still fresh, “But I told him something we used to say to each other, and he seemed to remember for a second. That one second was enough for him to save me before I drowned,”-he gets up from his chair and looks at you expectantly- “Why didn’t he remember me before? Why just then, for that one second?”

“It’s…” you hesitate, not sure if you should give this information away, “It’s the training we receive. We’re trained to snap into assassin mode when we hear special words given in a particular order. It’s how Hydra flips the switch, for lack of a better term. Sometimes, if we’re in our super-soldier mode, and we hear something from our lives before, it can jolt us back into reality for a split second. Which, in your case, is why your friend saved you,” you look up at him, anger clearly burning in your (e/c) eyes, “That’s why they take care to wipe most of our memories.”

“Most of your memories?” His expression is a mix of pity, anger, and unshakeable hope, “Not all of them?”

“No,” you admit, “Sometimes they let us keep the ones that make us fight harder, more violently. For example, I-” A sudden pulse travels up your arm and you jump in surprise and discomfort.

“What is it?” Steve demands anxiously. You clench your jaw against the unpleasant feeling in your arm. The shock fades, just as a loud bang echoes in the hall outside. You feel a slight smile curve your lips, feeling a familiar presence steadily approaching the cell.

“What’s going on?!” Steve yells frantically into his earpiece, “Someone tell me what’s happening!”

“I activated my tracker,” you reply absently, your mind still concentrated on your partner, “It broadcasts my location to my partner, then to the nearest Hydra agents if he doesn’t respond. It sends out an electric pulse to their trackers when first activated that increases in intensity the closer they get. It’s a safety precaution Hydra installed when too many agents were getting lost or left alone.”

Steve looks at you, aghast, “You’re telling me that you led Hydra agents here??”

“Only one. Like I said, the signal is sent to all nearby agents if my partner doesn’t reply. Which, evidently, he has.”

More gunshots echo in the halls, joined by yells and shouts of alarm. Steve runs his hands through his hair, a panicked expression plastered on his face. You close your eyes and tap into your partner’s mind. Suddenly you’re not in the cell, but in one of the adjacent halls with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.

“Almost here,” you murmur, “Just a few more turns and you’re here.” You can feel the confirmation in his mind, feel his determination to reach you.

“What was that?” Steve asks.

“My help is almost here,” you say with a smile.

“And how do you know that?”

“Hydra didn’t just choose me because I’m another pretty face,” you snap, “I have some form of telepathy.” Steve still looks confused, so you explain it to him, “I can sense other people’s emotions and sometimes even communicate with them. I know my partner is almost here because I can feel him getting closer.”

_I can also tap into anyone’s mind and turn it against them, or control them if need be, but no way in hell am I telling you that._

“Who’s your partner?”

You give him a strange look; Captain Oblivious indeed, “My partner is the Winter Soldier, or as we know him, James Buchanan Barnes.”


	3. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky and the Reader make their great escape, and fluffiness ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance if some of the Russian is incorrect. As I have yet to start learning the language, I have to stick with an online translator. Let me know if I make any errors so I can improve, and I hope you enjoy!!

As Steve’s eyes widen- he had suspected that you knew more than you were letting on, but didn’t expect that his old friend would be this close- a loud, metallic clang ricochets throughout the cell. A fist shaped dent appears in the dull metal, followed by a shoulder-shaped indent. Your breath catches in your throat as Bucky throws himself against the door again and again. 

“Steve,” you call out. He turns to face you, anxiety and pain glinting in his eyes, “Stay down after he hits you. He’s in full Winter Soldier mode, and he will not hesitate to kill you-” Steve opens his mouth to object, but you cut him off- “Please. It’ll be easier that way.”

The door flies open, its metal locks twisted and bent out of shape, and slams into the stone wall with the force of a car crash. A dark blur moves through the door and light shines off of a metal fist as it punches into Steve and sends him straight into the wall. He falls to the ground on his side and coughs, then starts to push himself up onto his hands and knees. A foot slams into his stomach just as a fist strikes his head, and he collapses with a groan.

Normally, you would have felt a bit concerned for the man, but your eyes were riveted to the figure standing just a few feet from you. The Winter Soldier stood in the doorway of your cell, his fists clenched tight at his sides. His gaze roams over the room, checking for possible threats, then finally land on you. 

“Bucky,” you breathe. The last time you saw him had been over six months ago, when you were placed back in cryofreeze. The memory came back, flooding your mind with emotion. You remembered an excruciating pain lancing through your head and then being in a state of utter blankness as you gazed at the room around you. Bucky had been fighting then, punching through Hydra agents as he screamed your name. 

The man in front of you holds none of that savagery, not at this moment at least. At the sound of your voice his posture relaxes, and he crosses the room in a few strides. He reaches behind you, rips your handcuffs apart, then sinks to his knees in front of you and begins to check you over for injuries. His face is hard and blank, but his hands are shaking slightly as he evaluates your current state.

“Моя любовь,” you murmur. You place a hand on his shoulder, and his movements still. You tilt his face up so his gaze meets yours, “Я безопасной.” (My love, I’m safe).

The Winter Soldier mask breaks, and emotions flood into Bucky’s face. He leans his forehead against yours and sighs with relief.

“(Y/N).” His deep voice catches in his throat, betraying his worry for you, “Я подумал я потерял вас.” (I thought I lost you)

“Никогда.” (Never)

He leans back to look into your (e/c) eyes and searches them desperately for any indication of pain on your part. He knows better than most than you have a tendency to hide your pain whenever you’ve been hurt out of concern for him.

“Вы можете прогуляться?” He asks. (Can you walk?)

“Нет идеи.” You reply. (No idea)

He slides an arm under your shoulder and gently pulls you to your feet. You stumble and grit your teeth as your ankle spasms painfully. It’s likely sprained and it hurts, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. You meet Bucky’s eyes and nod slightly. He withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and carefully places his hand on the small of your back.

“Давайте вы получите из здесь,” His piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, “Вы знаете рутинных.” He starts to move towards the door and you fall into position behind him, pulling out daggers from each of your boots. You chuckle softly to yourself at the Avengers’ failure to search you fully then flick your wrists, causing the razor sharp feathers lining the arms of your suit to pop out. You roll your stiff shoulders, cracking your back to ensure that your motions will be more fluid. Bucky looks back at you for a split second, worry still lurking behind the steel that is his face, then nudges the door back open. (Let’s get you out of here. You know the routine)

He stalks out into the hall, weaving his way through the unconscious guards on the floor with predatory grace. You follow behind silently (but admittedly less gracefully due to your ankle), your eyes flitting from place to place and your ears sensitive to any noise. Closing your eyes, you extend your senses through the hall in front of you, pushing past the familiar presence of Bucky’s mind. Most of the presences you feel are those of the unconscious guards thanks to him, save for Steve in the next room and… 

“Oh shitbiscuits,” You mutter. You can feel the minds of at least three people coming quickly from in front of you, and five more from the left side. Bucky! You hiss in your head while reaching into his mind. He turns to look at you, a quizzical expression on his face. Five to the left, three ahead, moving fast. His face hardens with understanding and he immediately moves into a defensive position facing to the left. Sighing at his tendency to take on the bigger fish, you let your body fall into a fighting stance and adjust your grip on your dagger. You grin, all worries and pain forgotten in a surge of adrenaline in anticipation of the coming fight. Within moments, you and Bucky are surrounded by a circle of gun-toting guards.

“Drop your weapons!” One of the guards bellows. His face is red from exertion beneath the shield on his helmet and his finger twitches uncertainly on the trigger of his gun. I shall call you Mr. Tomato Face, you decide, hearing a muffled choke coming from Bucky’s throat in response. You and Bucky look at each other as if you’re considering Tomato Face’s command. You drop your pistol, wink, and then all hell breaks loose.

As your gun hits the floor, Bucky slams his fist into the chest of the guard nearest to him, sending him flying into the wall. Before the other guards can react, he’s picked up the man’s gun and is now using it as an impromptu battering ram. You use this fantastic distraction to kick your gun back up into your hand and slam it into the face of Mr. Tomato Face. He stumbles back drunkenly, the bullet from his gun grazing your bicep, before receiving a swift kick to the chest that makes him crumple to the floor. The other two guards aim at you, but you quickly roll to the side and come up on a knee, then aim and shoot at the base of each gun; this effectively startles the two men, who drop their now useless weapons. You lash out with your right leg and spin, hooking your foot around one of the guard’s ankles and pulling, smirking as you hear a satisfying wheeze as he hits the floor and groans. You spin back around and surge up from the ground, tumbling neatly into a roll, and punching the other guard directly in the groin. 

You uncoil to your feet and face the last of your three guards. He pulls another gun out of the holster at his side that you quickly knock out of his hand while jabbing him in the throat. He gasps, his eyes going wide and swings his fist at you clumsily. You sigh in exasperation, duck his lame attempt at hitting you, then land a solid punch in his solar plexus. You can feel the sting of several cuts opening on your knuckles at your fist makes contact with his heavily padded vest, but you ignore it in favor of swiftly rendering him unconscious as his breath whooshes out of his lungs. Pleased with your handiwork, you pick up your pistol from the floor and turn to help Bucky, who has already taken down three of his opponents as well and is currently fighting the last two. 

One of the guards, a medium built man with a thick mustache, manages to land a hard blow to Bucky’s side that has him staggering back. The other guard, a lanky man with a long face, sees this opportunity and aims his gun at Bucky’s chest.

Quite unfortunately for him, his gravitational pull must have increased, because before he can squeeze the trigger he’s on the floor screaming with your dagger embedded in his thigh. How tragic. Bucky shoots you a brief look of gratitude, and you give him a thumbs up before turning your attention to one of Bucky’s opponents that has decided that getting back up is a very good idea.

“Oh, you poor fool,” you sigh, “Do you want to get the crap kicked out of you that badly?” The guard’s face twists at your condescending tone and he spits a rather repulsive mixture of blood and saliva at you. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He charges at you, bellowing like some great animal. You wait patiently, your muscles tensing at the distance closes between you. Right before he’s within reach, you step to the side and he barrels past you. You snicker in spite of yourself, then let yourself relax back into a defensive position. Growling with frustration, the man pulls a knife from his belt and stalks towards you, anger practically boiling the air around him.

“Oh no!” You gasp in mock horror, “A tooth pick! My greatest weakness!” You’re right next to Bucky now, who is in the middle of choking out his final opponent. The guard slices at your head and you lean back, dodging the worst of it but feeling the blade slice a shallow cut along your cheek. You lash out at the top of his thigh, and your metal feathers bite into the skin there. They’re already wet with blood, most likely from hitting one of the other guards you’d fought. He cries out in pain and falls to his knees, and you knock him out with a swift blow to the temple. 

You look up to see if there are any other opponents for you to fight, and barely have time to register the gun pointed at you before Bucky’s arm is in front of your body. The bullet bounces off of his metal arm and embeds itself into a wall. You release a shuddering gasp as a cold sweat breaks out all over your body and look up at Bucky. His face has contorted into an expression of rage, and you can hear his knuckles cracking as he clenches his hands into fists. He stalks towards the guard who shot at you. He somehow manages to duck Bucky’s first punch and sinks a knife into his right bicep. Bucky hisses in pain, then swats the man into the wall with his metal hand. He then pulls him back upright and punches him once...twice...three times.

“Bucky!” You yell, “Это Сделать! Я безопасной, в настоящее время остановки!” He relaxes, letting the dazed and bloody guard fall to the ground as the pre-programmed bloodlust fades from him. He stumbles away from the badly beaten man at his feet, clenching his jaw in frustration at his loss of control. He stalks back to you, examining you for any injuries. His eyes are the dark blue of the ocean during the storm as he takes in the cut along your cheek and a shallow slice along your ribs you hadn’t noticed. (It’s done! I’m safe, now stop!)

“Вы больно.” He murmurs. (you’re hurt)

“Так вы,” you reply cheekily, “Вот что происходит, когда вы избили люди. Мы будем заниматься его позднее, сейчас я считаю, что мы должны получить от здесь.” He nods in affirmation, some of the worry leaving his eyes. Together, the two of you weave your way through the corridors, pressing up against walls whenever a group of guards run past. After several long, confusing minutes that make you wish you had a map, you find the exit. With weapons at the ready, you burst through the doors and make for the woods surrounding the compound.   
(So are you. That’s what happens when you beat people up. We’ll deal with it later, right now I think we should get out of here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like?? Please like and comment if you did! Chapter 4 should be up in a week, maybe a week and a half as I'm currently in France and unable to access my notebook with everything written out :( I made this chapter a bit longer to make up for it, which I hope it does!


	4. Assassin's Antics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antics, revelations of the past, and romance, oh my!!

You and Bucky sprint through the woods, zig-zagging through the trees in case anyone is pursuing you. You grit your teeth in pain at the throbbing in your ankle, and glance over at Bucky. His right arm is drenched from shoulder to elbow in blood, yet his pace shows no sign of slowing. You’d been running for a little over twenty minutes now, and you’d sensed that your pursuers had fallen behind just after you and Bucky hit the treeline. You throw your awareness ahead of you, honing in on any presences other than you and Bucky. Right when you’re about to pull back, you sense the faint trace of a mind. You steel yourself, gathering up your power, and push.  
The forest around you blurs away, and a new image appears before your eyes. You’re sitting in the driver’s seat of a car, driving along a mostly empty road bordered by trees on either side. You glance down at a small GPS mounted to your dashboard, and make a mental note of the car’s current position. You look up once more at the road, then pull out of the stranger’s mind. Your view of the forest returns just in time for you to dodge a tree and jump lithely over a small creek. 

“Bucky,” you pant, “Stop for a minute.” Beside you, Bucky slows to a halt, his chest heaving, and looks over at you quizzically. You open one of the pockets on your weapons belt and pull out a loop of braided leather.

“There’s a road about a mile ahead,” you explain as you tie the leather around Bucky’s shoulder. The only sign that he feels any pain is a slight clench of his jaw, and you send him a faint mental apology in response. “It leads back to the city, but about halfway down is one of my old safehouses. We can make it there in under an hour if we stay behind the treeline.”

Bucky nods in agreement, amusement flickering in his eyes, “You’re always one step ahead of the rest of us, aren’t you?” You grin at him and shrug casually.

“If you’re referring to the fact that I established safehouses in almost every place that Hydra was guaranteed to send one of us, then yes, of course I am,” you smirk, “Someone around here has to think past just punching people until they stop attacking you.” You give Bucky a very pointed look and he chuckles at your not-so-subtle dig at him. His metal hand curves around your waist as he pulls you a bit closer to his body.

“I’ll let you get away with that one,“ he growls, “But only because we both know how much you like watching me fight.” You snort and shove him away.

“Inflate your ego any more, darling, and you’re likely to blow up,” you snark at him, “Now let’s go. I want to get your arm stitched up before you risk aggravating it anymore.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky barks, snapping out a faux salute at you. You roll your eyes and begin a brisk jog towards the road ahead, and hopefully towards some peace and quiet.

 

“Cap, are you okay? Rogers?” A hand shoves Steve’s shoulder, and he rolls over onto his back with a grunt of pain. A blur of red hair and pale skin hovers over his face.

“Nat,” he groans. Steve sits up, feeling his muscles protest, and rubs the side of his head, wincing as his fingers come away bloody. He tries to get up off the dusty floor, but falls back as a sharp pain lashes through his side. Steve sighs and lets his head fall back against the wall, pointedly ignoring the devastation around him.

“Jesus, Steve, what the hell happened here?” Natasha takes in the twisted metal door, the crumbling hole in the concrete wall, and the bodies littering the floor. 

“(Y/N) happened,” Steve replies hoarsely.

Natasha’s brows furrow with confusion. “Who’s (Y/N)?”

“The assassin, the one Hydra sent. Her name’s (Y/N).”

“Look, I know she’s an extraordinarily fighter, but you can’t possibly be telling me that she did all of this?”

“No. She had help. Apparently Hydra now implants its operatives with trackers, something about them losing too many agents. Anyways, once activated, the tracker broadcasts an agent’s location to their partner, if they have one, and then to all nearby Hydra members if their partner doesn’t respond. That’s what she did. He came and busted her out,” Steve looks up at Natasha, his eyes glimmering with raw emotion, “It was Bucky, Nat. He’s the one that came for her.” Natasha sucks in a breath, understanding flooding her expression.

“You had to fight him?” Steve shakes his head slowly.

“No. Darkangel- (Y/N) told me to stay down. She said it would be the Winter Soldier that walked in, not Bucky. She said I should stay down after he hit me the first time, or he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me,” Steve sighs, “I don’t know why I listened. I don’t even know if she was telling the truth. If he didn’t kill me last time, why would this time be any different?”

“I don’t know, Steve,” Natasha murmurs, “She’s a new player on a very, very complicated board, and all we really know for sure is that she’s one of Hydra’s experiments. Right now, I think we should get you and the rest of these guys checked out, then go see what we can figure out about this Darkangel.” She straightens up and reaches her hand out to Steve, who clasps it gratefully as he hauls himself up to his feet. He glances back into the cell, where the handcuffs lay ripped to pieces, then back to the battered cell door, and follows Natasha into the hallway.

 

By the time you arrive at the safehouse, even you’re starting to feel weary from the events of the past few hours. The house looks the same as it has for years: a small, seemingly nondescript, wooden bungalow with bulletproof windows and several well-placed hidden traps.

“Don’t walk on the second step from the bottom,” you call over your shoulder to Bucky, “I rigged it to do some pretty nasty stuff to whoever does.” Bucky laughs at your paranoia, and follows you up the stairs, taking care to avoid the second step. You push open the front door and usher Bucky inside, making sure to lock it behind you. You move quickly through the living room, signaling for Bucky to sit on the plastic-wrapped couch as you throw curtains over the windows and flick on the lights. 

You move down the hall into your “room,” and pry up a loose floorboard next to your bed. From it, you remove a handgun, two knives, and a rifle, all fully loaded. The knives go back in your boots, the gun in your belt, and the rifle is slung over your back for Bucky. Next, you retrieve a bulky med-kit from your bathroom and waltz into the main room, tucking the kit under your arm as you grab a bottle of whiskey from under the sink. You turn back to Bucky, whose blue eyes rake up and down your figure before focusing in on the supplies you carry. You place your packages down on the table and squat down in front of Bucky.

“Do you need help getting your gear off?” Bucky’s eyebrow flicks up and he smirks at you mischievously. You swat his knee, feeling heat creep up your neck at the intensity of his gaze.

“I think I’ll be alright,” Bucky drawls. He tugs on the straps of his vest and starts to peel layer after layer away from his body, using his injured arm only when absolutely necessary. You unpack the med kit, pulling out gauze and an emergency suture pack. Once his bare chest is revealed, you take a moment to enjoy the view of his toned muscles before leaning in to inspect the damage. 

“It’s pretty deep, so you probably shouldn’t use that arm for the next couple days,” you state, your fingers gently probing the area around the wound. You turn back to the table and grab the bottle of whiskey.

“Want some painkiller?” You joke, holding out the bottle. He smiles gratefully and takes it, downing a gulp almost immediately. 

“Do I get a kiss for the pain, too? Or just booze?” Bucky says, winking. You laugh and lean in, but let out a slight yelp as his metal arm curves around your waist and yanks you onto his lap. His lips capture yours urgently, and you fist your hands in his hair as you respond just as eagerly. Even through your leather suit, you can feel the heat radiating off of his powerful body, feel his muscles flexing under your fingers as your hands slide over the planes of his chest. You pull back and press a kiss to his throat, smirking in satisfaction as he groans.

“Okay,” you say breathlessly, “Now let’s work on fixing up your arm.” You slide off of Bucky’s lap and pad over to the table, plucking up the gauze and suture packet. You take a seat on his right side and unwrap the suture kit. 

“You might want to have another gulp,” you advise Bucky. He opens his mouth to protest, but obliges after seeing the expression on your face. Once he’s done, you get to work. Bucky tenses up at the first pass of the needle, discomfort radiating off him. 

“No matter how many times I get stitched up, it never gets any more pleasant,” Bucky grumbles. 

“Tell me about it,” you snort, “I’m not sure what’s worse; doing it yourself or having someone else do it to you. I’ve had to do myself more times than I can count.”

You sense a flash of emotional pain from Bucky and brush up against his mind gently. An image flashes before your eyes of the aftermath of one of your first difficult missions, and you watch through Bucky’s eyes as you’re dragged to the infirmary, bleeding from a dozen slices and screaming in agony from a chemical that had been injected into your system. You pull back from his mind, reeling from revisiting a memory that had long since faded. You work in silence for the next few minutes, content to simply organize your thoughts and observations from the past day. 

“So, what do we do now?” You ask Bucky as you tie off the last stitch, “They sent me on this mission, and they know you came for me; they’ll be expecting us to come back.”

“I can’t,” Bucky croaks, “I can’t go back there. I can’t watch them wipe you and freeze you again, (Y/N). Not anymore. I know, we’ve been doing this for years, but... Last time was bad enough, I just can’t do it again.”

The raw emotion in his voice startles you, and you search his face for an answer why. “How long?” You breathe, “How long was I in cryo?” Bucky’s eyes dim with sorrow as his thumb traces along your cheekbone.

“Six months,” he whispers brokenly, “And because of how they modified the machine so we wouldn’t forget each other, I knew it. Every time I came out and remembered who I was, what had happened, I felt like a part of me was missing. I was on my way back from a mission when I got your signal, and I didn’t even think to worry that it might just be another trick, another test from them. They didn’t even tell me that you had been taken out of cryo. You were- you are all that matters. Hydra can go to hell after what they did to you.”

You blink furiously, unwelcome tears welling up in your eyes. You reach out and grip Bucky’s hand firmly, savoring the feeling of the calloused strength of his palm enclosing yours. “What happened that day, Bucky? I remember you fighting to get to me, but nothing else. Hydra… Hydra told me that you were hallucinating because of something you were exposed to during a mission…” You trail off as Bucky’s metal fist clenches and his eyes flash with barely suppressed rage.

“Those bastards,” he hisses, “Of course they’d lie to you about what happened. Those foul, twisted вы́родки!” (monsters, degenerates) 

“Bucky, look at me!” your voice cracks like a whip and his stormy eyes meet yours, burning with unbridled anger. You reach out your other hand and trail your fingers down the side of his face, tracing down to firmly cup the back of his neck. You press your forehead against his, feeling him relax against you as he releases a deep, shuddering breath. You meet his eyes again, now significantly calmer than before. You feel a wave of gratitude flow from him, and send your own feelings of relief back. You pull away from Bucky, moving your hand down to grip his shoulder reassuringly, “What really happened that day?”

Bucky’s eyes flit away from yours, then back again. He clears his throat and takes another swig of whiskey, “You remembered your family.” The word strikes a chord deep within you, and you feel it resonate inside of you like a gong, “It had been a while since either of us had been wiped, there’d just been so many missions that Hydra didn’t have the time to. So, the day that we were being brought back in to be evaluated, and wiped if need be, you got a memory flash about when you were taken. You lost control, yelled at them about how they’d taken you from your family and ruined everything you’d once known, then attacked. Three guards were dead by the time I made it into the room, just in time to see one of them hurl you against a wall. When I saw that, heard you hit the wall… I saw red. I went after the people that were holding you, tried to force my way over to you, even as they dragged you over to the chair. I was determined to do anything, everything I had to in order to get to you. But then they wiped and reprogrammed you, and your scream tore a hole inside of me. 

“They wiped me after, but took me out of cryo only two weeks later. I guess they just assumed that I was less of a risk, that I only reacted because you were being threatened and I’d been conditioned to protect you. They knew I wouldn’t remember what happened for a little while, so they did their very best to ensure there was minimal chance of me remembering quickly. But I did, at least eventually I did. The memory involved you, so they couldn’t get rid of it completely, not after they reprogrammed their technology.” Bucky let out a harsh laugh, “I guess that was their worst mistake”

You exhale, and look up at Bucky. Sorrow and concern war for dominance on his chiseled face, and you smile at him, “I suppose punching your way through things really is your only plan in an emergency.” Bucky stares at you for a moment, then bursts out laughing. 

“You always know how to lighten a mood, don’t you, doll?” He teases. You stick out your tongue childishly, before your expression turns serious, “Thank you for telling me, Bucky. And thank you for always fighting for me.” Bucky locks eyes with you, and the intensity of his gaze send a shiver through your whole body.  
“You know I always will,” he murmurs. You lean against him, taking care to avoid his bullet wound, and rest your head on his shoulder. Your eyes start to close despite your best efforts to keep them open.

“I vote that we go to bed and make up the rest of this plan tomorrow,” Bucky whispers in your ear, “Besides, I think this is one of the only safehouses we haven’t spent the night in. We should probably make it count, seeing as we’re likely to leave tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes at your partner, lifting your head up, “Have you forgotten that your arm is still injured? Save the shenanigans for when it’s all better.” Bucky smirks, and has you pinned to the couch under him in a flash. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, darlin’, I do have two arms. One of which, I might add, is quite useful in many situations.” His lips brush yours briefly before he pushes himself off of the couch, swaggering down the hall with his typical flair.

You stare after Bucky, shaking your head in disbelief. You glance up at the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh at the assassin’s antics, then follow your partner into your bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! I GOT IT UP!  
> I worked on this all day today and made sure it was extra long to make up for my lack of updating. This past week , I laid out a plan for the rest of the story... or at least the next several chapters. I've been doing a lot of research to make sure I'm as accurate as possible, and I'm really excited for you all to see where our dynamic duo is headed next!  
> As usual, comments, questions and kudos are invited and MUCH appreciated!!


	5. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last... The Avengers continue their search for our delectable duo, while you learn more about what happened the last time you saw Bucky.

“So, what’s the story on Wanda?” Steve asks as he and Tony stroll- or, rather, limp- down one of the few hallways that hadn’t been damaged in the attack. His head wound had been cleaned out and his ribs bound to help his already accelerated healing process. Natasha was busy trying to hack into Hydra’s database and find some information on (Y/N), which would hopefully give them some advantage in tracking both her and Bucky down.

 

“She’s still in recovery,” Tony sighs in frustration. “It seems like she got hit with a pretty strong mental attack from this ‘Darkangel,’ and she hasn’t quite woken up yet. Pietro’s insisted on staying with her until she recovers. She’ll pull through, but I think she just wasn’t prepared to come up against someone who could turn her abilities against her.”

 

“Poor kid,” Steve agrees as they turn another corner. “Has there been word from anyone else?

 

“Vision’s en route back here- he insists on doing it ‘the human way’-, Thor is MIA and Banner is, well, being Banner. I’m pretty sure Wilson’s taking his anger out on the gym after all the damage done to his suit.” With this, the two men arrive in one of the central command centers, where Natasha is typing furiously. 

 

“You got anything, Nat?” Steve calls out.

 

“Anything, yes, but not what I wanted” she replies with a scowl. “All of the information about her is heavily protected. I’ve managed to get most of the basics and a few interesting facts, but not much more than that. And before you ask, yes, Stark, I did run several of your programs to try and gain access. It looks like the only way we can get into most of these files would be through one of Hydra’s personal, on-site computers.” 

 

“So, what did you find?” Steve asks, cutting in before one of Tony’s smartmouth comments could. There had been enough fighting today, and he really didn’t feel like dealing with another bout. 

 

“She was born in 1924 to an unnamed couple with the name (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), and was taken by Hydra in 1950 while she was flying to France to study. They took her and crashed the plane, and there were no questions asked. They knew about her telepathic abilities, but her intelligence and physical appearance were a bonus,” Nat explains, flicking through paragraphs on the screen. “She was experimented on with the same serum as you and Bucky, Cap. But they also tried to enhance her powers, and it looks like they succeeded. According to this, they developed her abilities to the point that she could force her way into someone’s head and then literally rip their mind apart.” — Natasha, always so stoic, even looked faintly nauseated at this— “Hydra made her practice on POWs that they had taken, and after she had completely gained control of her powers, she became the second agent in the Winter Soldier program.” 

 

‘The second?” Tony sputters. “Shit, how many of these Winter Soldiers are there?”

 

“Language, Tony,” Steve reminds him gently. The dark haired man glares at him, muttering something about “perfect teeth” and “uptight” under his breath. “What else?”

 

“Well, a point of concern in her file was how close she became to Bucky,” Nat continues. “At first, they wouldn’t use her to test new recruits because she was just too dangerous when ‘activated,’ they would only use Bucky. After the two had spent more time together, both in training and on missions, she had to be confined when he was fighting the recruits because she would try and kill both them and her handlers. The information I pulled gets vague after this, but the file says that at one point the Winter Soldier made a mistake on a critical mission, and when they tried to wipe his mind, Darkangel became violent and had to be subdued. Whatever happened after convinced Hydra that the bond between the two should be exploited instead of being suppressed, and they recalibrated their technology to leave the two with memories of each other. Somehow, by remembering each other, they were not only more effective on missions, but infinitely more deadly and legions more compliant,” Natasha turns back around to face them. “That’s all I could get access to. I’d need to be on the inside to get anything else, and I’m out of strings to pull.” 

 

“Thanks Nat,” Steve smiles grimly. 

 

“Any idea of where they went?” Tony asks, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “The security cams showed them sprinting out the back of the compound into the woods, but we’ve got no cameras past the treeline.”

 

“Not yet,” Natasha replies. “We’re sweeping the area now, but I doubt that they’d stay anywhere near here. For all we know, they could already be on their way out of the country.” She turns meet Tony’s hardened gaze. “That’s what I would do.”

 

* * *

 

You wake up the next morning in a surprisingly comfortable bed, draped over an even more comfortable chest. For a moment, all of your muscles stiffen and you tense, poised to uncoil and spring into action. You take a deep breath in, savoring the feeling of Bucky’s muscled, naked body beneath yours, and cast out your awareness in a net, scanning the area for any intruders. To your relief, there are none, and you allow yourself to relax back into your partner’s embrace. Bucky pulled you close at some point during the night, and his metal arm is curved lazily around your waist. Propping yourself up on an elbow, you trace your fingers lightly along his left shoulder, where his warm skin meets the shiny metal of the cybernetic arm. He only remembered occasional flashes from his past, same as you, so all you knew for sure was that he had lost the arm in an accident, and it had been replaced with a metal one. 

 

Next to you, Bucky twitches, a frown marring his handsome features. His arm tenses on your back, the metal shuddering slightly as his fingers dig into your hip. He starts muttering under his breath in Russian, his entire body tensing as he thrashes. 

 

“Bucky!” You hiss, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Bucky, you’re safe! You’re free, Bucky, wake up, please.” He still shows no signs of waking up, so you know what you have to do. You shift so you’re directly on top of him, pinning down his body with your own. You move one hand to cup his cheek, then you close your eyes and open up the connection between your mind and his, bracing yourself for his nightmare to flood your vision. When it does, you can’t even breathe.

 

You’re watching from the sidelines of the dream, a normal occurrence when you enter into someone else’s memories. Bucky’s marching down a corridor, three guards- Hydra, based on their uniforms- flanking him. You can recognize the setting easily enough, this hall leads directly to the Evaluation Chamber, a compound, windowless room used for three purposes: testing, conditioning, and wiping assets. Suddenly, Bucky stops at the sound of screaming, one of which you recognize as your own. You turn to investigate, but the scene changes- suddenly, you’re on the outer edges of the Evaluation Chamber, but you’re watching  _ yourself _ .

 

“I remember everything!” You- the past you- scream. “You took me, you took me from everything I loved. My family, my friends, all of it is GONE! You- you ruined my life, just for your experiments, and I will never see them again! You ripped me apart, you tortured me, and you turned me into a  **monster.** ” 

 

A pang of loss stabs through your heart at the thought of your family. Did they think you had died when you were taken? Were they killed when Hydra took you? Or did they waste away for decades, hoping their daughter would return to them? You shake yourself free of the questions, and focused on the scene in front of you, but it changes back to the hallway, where Bucky is swaying on his feet. He braces himself against a wall, deaf to the angry questions of his guards, and you can see the horror and fear etched on his face. Clearly, he had seen what you just saw in the Chamber.

 

 _How is this possible?_ _I don’t remember- did I somehow pull_ ** _Bucky_** _into my mind when this happened?_ _Bucky doesn’t have any telepathic abilities, so he couldn’t have entered my mind on his own. Unless…_

_ Unless I’ve created a permanent connection between our minds.  _

 

Your abilities essentially created a bridge between your mind and someone else’s, but they could also be expanded to sense the presence of other minds. You and Bucky had been partners on almost every mission you had done with Hydra, and every time you had connected your mind to his so you could communicate and track each other’s progress, location and health. If that connection had become permanent, it would explain how it had gotten so easy over time to enter his mind, or how he was able to quickly pick up on changes in your mood or thoughts. 

 

You’re broken out of your revelation by the sound of crunching bone and men dying. It had only been a few seconds, but that had been enough for Bucky to kill all three of the men who had been guarding him. The last slips out of Bucky’s metal fist, landing with a grotesque thud on the cold floor. Bucky’s tall, heavily muscled frame trembles with barely repressed fury as he stalks to the Evaluation Chamber, and rips the steel door right off its hinges.

 

The next few minutes are a blur of violence. You see, with perfect clarity, the bright red blood pooling around your past self’s boots from the slashed throats of your handlers. You see yourself punched in the gut, then hurled against the far wall with a crunch that makes you cringe. Next to you, Bucky roars as his rage and conditioning to protect you explode into a whirlwind of death. You stumble back into a corner of the room, fearful not of your partner,  _ never _ him, but the sight of your limp body being dragged to the memory chair. Bucky continues to fight, breaking bones and smashing personnel into walls so hard that there are dents in the stone. But that’s a blur, and the only part of the scene that’s clear in any way is your form being belted into the chair. You’d been in enough memories to know that, even if you weren’t viewing the scene from a person’s eyes, what they saw and experienced will be what you see. If their memories are a blur, you’ll see everything exactly the same way. 

 

The sound of your own scream sends a chill up your spine. Memory You is conscious again, woken by the the pain of being wiped. Bucky’s efforts redouble as he screams out your name in agony, but you can tell that his strength is flagging. 

 

_ This must have been just after a mission. He never tires this quickly in a fight, and Hydra would ever give us the luxury of resting before an evaluation.  _

 

One of the guards, probably the smartest of the lot, produces a taser and jabs it into Bucky’s side. It comes away bloody, causing you to growl deep in the back of your throat.  _ Definitely right after a mission _ , you think furiously. Bucky drops to his knees gasping for air, and the half dozen remaining personnel haul him to his feet and pin him to an unbroken section of wall. His jaw is clenched tight against the pain, but his eyes remain locked onto Memory You, who has finally stopped screaming. The Hydra officer, safe behind his group of guards near the chair below, approaches Memory You, who is panting with exhaustion. The man is familiar to you, but you can’t see his face from your position in Bucky’s nightmare. He snaps his fingers and one of the assistants hands him a book you and Bucky recognize immediately: blood red, with a white star. 

 

“ Роза. Девять. Зима,” The officer intones. Your skin prickles with fear, and you feel like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over your entire body. Every muscle seizes up, and a wave of intense panic and rage washes over you. You fall to your knees, gasping and trying to resist your activation words. Even though you’re trapped in Bucky’s nightmare, the words still have the same effect. “Затме́ние. Одиночество.” Your vision blurs and your hearing becomes muffled until all you can hear is the frantic pounding of your heart in your ears. You hear screaming, layered and harmonizing in its agony, and realize that your cries are intertwining with those of your past self. You gather your strength before you lose all control and lunge for Bucky. Your shaking fingers twist themselves into the leather of his gear, and you violently rip yourself out of the nightmare. (rose, nine, winter, eclipse, solitude)

 

Your eyes fly open to see Bucky’s reassuring ocean blue gaze, and you can feel his hands gripping your sides firmly. Your whole body is tensed to the point that you’re shaking, and your breath comes out in harsh gasps. You bow your head, your long (Y/H/C) falling around your face, hiding your horror at the reality of your past. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I'm a horrible updater!!! I really hope that all of you Darkangel fans won't be mad at me and continue to read this story! Things have been crazy, there have been a lot of health issues in my family, and I don't have as much time to write as I'd hoped, but I'm doing my best. Things will hopefully be better in 2018. This is my New Year's present to you all, and I really hope that you enjoyed! Stay tuned for updates on the others, and perhaps a new story or two! Thank you for reading, and I hope you stick with inconsistent me!  
> PS- half of the activation words revealed... five more to show you! Can anyone guess?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Marvel story so please leave comments and reviews!


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